A dark village at night… Under the bright full moon, something unusual suddenly happened to the hardworking villagers. A fire rose. Ashes fell from the sky like snow.
"They say… that the gods bled once. And what dripped from their veins still walks among us."
There was a lone ronin, lying unconscious beneath a tree at the time of the accident. His face was a lake of blood, his sword tightly clutched in his hand.
He suddenly woke up… . But then sharp flashes of the incident tore through his mind. Horrifying.
Harmless villagers were screaming. Everything was red as a rose. And in his hands…
A sword.
And not just any sword, but a blade burning with dark flames.
After awakening from his subconscious, several villagers had gathered around him, looking on with fear. They were frozen captured by the intensity of his aura. He was confused. Why were they afraid of him?
He looked at his hand, puzzled as to why—and how the sword was flaming in his palm, yet he was unharmed.
The sword was old, aged like an old woman's hoe, but there was something mysterious about it. On its hilt, a name was inscribed in a foreign language no one understood.
Suddenly, a mysterious voice whispered in his mind:
"You shouldn't have woken up… not now."
That evening, a warrior appeared but not just any warrior. He was a member of one of the six ronin clans.
The clan: Ashen Fang.
He was typical of his lineage massive like a wild mustang, tall as an Umibōzu (an ancient creature from the depths), his armor worn like an old song. Numerous scars crisscrossed his arms and body, trophies from past battles.
The warrior roared:
"Venshiro! I'll kill you, you bastard!"
With fury burning in his eyes, he charged at Venshiro with a speed uncharacteristically fast for one of Ashen Fang's size.
His blows were heavy, fierce, relentless but not enough to bring Venshiro down.
Venshiro fought defensively, each move precise. But the Flaming Sword he wielded pulsed with energy he did not understand.
Suddenly, he was engulfed in a dark, malevolent aura.
He couldn't control it.
While struggling to master the darkness within, he was struck hard. Blood splashed onto the Flaming Sword.
From the overwhelming energy coursing through him, a huge power was gained in his sword ..dark-wine veins appeared on the blade.During their clash, when Venshiro was cornered, the Vein Surge awakened. His eyes flickered dark red. The sword pulsed. The warrior's blade shattered not because of brute force, but because Venshiro anticipated the move before it happened.
Then, in a blur of speed he didn't understand, he stepped behind the warrior and his hand, covered in those dark, glowing veins, wrapped around the warrior's throat.
It wasn't Venshiro controlling his body at that point.
It was the sword.
A voice in his mind whispered:
"Let me finish what you started."
But he hesitated.
He fought back.
And in that moment of struggle, the veins pulled back leaving his hand trembling, still around the warrior's neck. But it was his hand again.
Silence fell.
Absolute silence.
Venshiro's heavy, ragged breathing broke the stillness. He looked at his weapon with a mix of fear and dread.
"I don't know who I am… but whatever is inside me… it's awake now."
Far off, a black and mystical figure watched the carnage. His face was invisible, but his eyes shone like twin suns.
"The heir has been reborn. The clans will act. The bloody war begins again," he said.